After School Art Class
by QueenOfBlackice
Summary: Jack is a little shit and Mr. Black (Pitch) has an offer the student cannot refuse (Highschool AU, lemon, yaoi, blackice)


Fuck this shit!

Art class was supposed the be the best class in highschool like ever, right? WRONG. SO FUCKING WRONG!

Jack was pissed (obviously). His stupid-ass teacher was purposefully making his life hell. Art teachers were supposed to be addled old hippies who did one too many lines in their youth and couldn't tell a picasso from a scribble (because they were the same. the fucking same, damnit!)

This guy though? Mr. Black? He had it in for him, the moment he laid eyes on Jack's bleached white hair. Absolute worst. Couldn't the creepy fucker find someone better to harass? But nooooo, Jack had his sketches critiqued in front of the class almost every week, his paintings were torn apart, and he barely got passing marks.

He was the best damn artist in the class by leagues and this was. not. fair.

AND NOW THIS?!

Now he was stuck in detention for maaaaaybe starting a paint fight while the teacher was out. Fuck. It wasn't his fault! That asswipe australian exchange student was a total douchebag and completely deserved to have pink acrylic plastered in his hair.

As Jack sat slumped in the desk chair, knee bouncing and fingers tapping impatiently, the door opened.

Think of the devil and In walked his least favorite person on the entire god forsaken planet, Mr. Black. Jack kept his head down and ignored him, even though he was the only other person in the room.

A crisp 'Ahem,' forced his eyes up and he glared at the teacher.

"Mr. Frost," he started very stiffly. Jack just tilted his chin in recognition. "I have an opportunity for you, if you choose to take it, that may be of some...benefit to you."

Jack sat up straighter, challenging Mr. Black with his eyes and still refusing to speak.

"An extra credit painting, if you will, that if done well enough will be placed in the City's art scholarship contest, and if it wins will be both a boon to the school and your future as well."

Jack's mouth fell open.

"Come with me, then," the maybe-not-the-absolute-worst-teacher-in-existence said before turning on his heel and marching out the classroom door.

Jack scrambled and bolted after Mr. Black racing to catch up and fall into step beside him as they made their way to the art wing.

"There has to be a catch?" Jack questioned as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans.

"Oh yes," Mr. Black replied briefly glancing down at the student before focusing back in front. "The painting needs to be completed today or we miss the deadline."

"That's hardly a catch. I can paint it easy. What subject?" Jack drawled, his confidence spilling out of check.

"Whatever you wish it to be, Mr. Frost."

The pair rounded the corner and made their way down the art wing of the school, which was nestled off in a haphazard extension of the old building and rather secluded. After a moment of quiet walking they came to Mr. Black's classroom and he opened the door ushering Jack in ahead of him.

Jack walked over to an easel with a prepared canvas and side table laid out with all necessary supplies. He didn't hear the lock click as Mr. Black closed the door.

"You seriously don't care what I paint? What if I just paint a bunch of dicks?" Jack teased as he picked up tubes of red, yellow, and blue, uncapping them and squeezing out the colors on a plastic cafeteria tray used as a pallet.

Mr. Black smiled tightly and stepped over to his desk before sitting down and promptly pulling out papers or whatever to grade. Jack frowned that his prodding didn't reward him with a reaction from the teacher.

Sighing, he began to mix colors and randomly smudge them across the canvas. He had no ideas yet, something would come to him as he blended and played a little.

As he worked it suddenly struck him how odd this was. Mr. Black didn't like him...he practically chewed him apart in classes, he hated his art, his style, his hair, his entire being, and yet here the both of them were in a room alone together...being peaceful. Shit.

"Hey." Jack called over the canvas. "Why are you letting me do this?"

"Why not?" came the reply from the desk as Mr. Black went back to ignoring him.

Jack frowned and slashed at the canvas with his brush, frustrated. "Because you hate me is why."

"How did you come to that conclusion?"

"I don't know, how 'bout because I'm barely fucking passing even though I'm the best one here? How 'bout the fact that you're having me do this competition over everyone else? How 'bout - never mind…" He finished his tirade on a weak mumble strangely losing the fight out of him quickly.

What was he doing? Challenging Mr. Black once again after already getting caught, after getting this break? Jack swallowed hard and went back to painting. His canvas was a depressing mess of blue.

A moment later, Mr. Black's chair scraped against the tiles and Jack heard his hard soled shoes tap across the room to circle around and stand behind him. Jack tensed up, but kept painting.

The steps closed in behind him, Jack stopped painting, huffing out a frustrated "What."

"Nothing, Mr. Frost. Please continue." The footsteps came closer.

Jack immediately stopped and tried to whirl around and face the Hell-Teacher, but a hand quickly gripped his shoulder and spun him back towards the canvas, Mr. Black's other burning hand coming up to his other shoulder anchoring him there.

"I think, you should work a little harder to gain my favor here, you little delinquent." The accented voice practically purred into Jack's ear.

"Or else what!" Jack spat back gripping the paintbrush so tightly the wood creaked, about to crack.

"Or else…"

A hand trailed from his shoulder up his neck and gripped Jack's jaw in a punishing grip, and he did not just shiver from that.

"...more serious measures will have to be taken."

And quite suddenly, Jack got it. Holy shit. It just clicked into place. Mr. Black...with his hand on his face, the other on his shoulder, pressed up against his back….holy shit.

And the paintbrush slipped from his fingers.

His mind stuttered to a halt, barely realizing that the scorching palm on his shoulder was now around his own hand, holding the brush in his fingers for him, a breathy seductive laugh in his ear.

"W-well...I wouldn't want…" Jack choked out, trying to swallow but his mouth was suddenly very dry. "W-want to get expelled."

"No. we wouldn't want that." Mr. Black said his hand directing Jack's brush back to the canvas. "We're on a time limit, Jack, best not forget that."

"S-seriously?" He gasped as the thumb on his cheek began to stroke back and forth.

"Very."

Jack could do nothing but comply. He brought his brush back to the canvas and slowly began to paint again. His strokes were large and sloppy. Mr. Black was very distracting.

"Is that the best you can do?" The teacher asked petulantly as his hand fell away to rest gently on Jack's hip.

Jack gasped and then ground his teeth together in determination. If Mr. Black wanted him to paint, then he would fucking paint and the guy could go choke on a chode and watch him, this weird sexual tension be damned.

So, he stepped forwards pulling Mr. Black with him and grabbed a smaller brush and his palette tray and began to paint in earnest.

This apparently was exactly what the teacher wanted because his hand shifted from his chin snaking down his neck, over his shoulder and across his back. Jack nearly bit his tongue to stifle the groan but kept painting, determined not to let Mr. Black succeed with distracting him.

Well that didn't last very fucking long when two hands quickly gripped his hips from behind shoving fingers up under his shirt, that heated body behind him branding into his back.

"Jesus, fuck. What are you doing-" Jack yelped.

A pointed chin dug into his shoulder. "No stopping now, Mr. Frost."

Jack squirmed and the hands rubbed up to his ribs hiking his shirt up, he actually did groan this time. Gods, he shouldn't let the man do this but…

Well...well it felt good, and they were alone….and honestly this was great fodder to get his least favorite teacher in the world totally fired. That was reason enough, man.

Mr. Black's warm fingers paused as he waited for Jack to begin painting again, so he did. With a deep breath, Jack tried to concentrate once more and the hands began to move again. Mr. Black hummed and Jack felt it vibrate into his shoulder. He gulped.

And it wasn't long after that that both burning palms crept down to his pants. By now Jack was irrevocably hard, noticeably hard, so fucking hard that he just about couldn't stand anymore, and Mr. Black knew it as he pressed a palm over the tent in his jeans.

And he would never let it be known in the history of the world that he whimpered right then, that his knees almost went weak. Nope. That did not happen.

But Mr. Black was chuckling and skilled fingers were at his zipper and Jack was beginning to pant and oh god oh god oh god this was really happening.

His hands fell and Jack turned his head and all movement stopped.

Mr. Black's hand pressed firmly against Jack, painfully so. The boy yelped and the teacher growled right next to his ear.

"None of that Mr. Frost. Keep painting. Don't stop. Don't comment. Don't even look."

Jack swallowed. "Y-yes, Sir." Was all he managed and the pressure let up. He brought his brush back to his canvas and continued. He didn't even register how fucking creepy the guy was acting right now.

Deft fingers popped the button of his jeans and then smoothly ducked under the elastic hem of his boxers. Gods. This was hot.

He began to detail the edges of the water in the image when cool air was on him. Mr. Black pulled his pulsing member from his underwear and Jack trembled. Warm fingers wrapped around him and Jack couldn't do anything about it. Fuck.

He flinched as his teacher (his TEACHER OH GOD) gripped him just a bit too tightly and he was about to protest when teeth dug into the side of his neck.

"Mr. B-black…" When in his life had he stuttered this much, it was like he was a blushing virgin or something.

A low "shhhhh" hissed against his skin and the hand on him let go for a moment. Jack gasped at the loss of contact. Mr. Black's other hand came up and gripped his chin again and held Jack's gaze upon his painting.

"Just a moment, Jack. Let me…." Mr. Black was reaching for something? Jack couldn't tell, couldn't see because his face was being held. Didn't really need to because a few moments later cold slickness was back on his cock. His art teacher had gone for lube. Lube! Damn he was serious. Jack was not upset by this though and actually let the weight of his head rest into the hand at his jaw.

He was beginning to like this quite a lot. Maybe even enough to blackmail Mr. Black into doing it again instead of reporting him. Hmmm, maybe even enough to behave to get these sorts of rewards, if this was what he could expect from a bit of extra credit.

Jack groaned as his head was tilted back towards his painting and Mr. Black whispered in his ear to continue. His thoughts were hazy but he did as he was told. The slickness on his member as Mr. Black stroked him was just about to shut down his brain.

In fact, it was only a few more pumps as those fingers swirled over his head before Jack tensed and came, all over his canvas and Mr. Black's hand. No warning, it hit him like a train and Jack was left nearly spasming in the hug of his art teacher.

Mr. Black hummed as Jack sagged into him letting his hands fall a bit but not dropping his palette or brush.

"Jack, I don't think...this will win anything."

He let his eyes fall closed and slowly reopened them to look at his painting. His cum splattered across the canvas marring the once pristine image of a frosted over pond in a forest. Jack lazily smiled. "Come on, Professor, that is so blue ribbon."

The hands on him fell away, and Mr. Black stepped back from Jack who had to quickly catch himself and stand. He whirled around to face his teacher and Pitch was staring at the painting with a frown.

Jack was nearly lost for words. Nearly. "What."

Mr. Black hmm'd and had his hands already folded behind his back. "Yeah. No, I do not…"

"You don't what."

"This painting is for shit, Mr. Frost. And I was so sure you were the one. The one that would…" The teacher groaned and closed his eyes. Jack was the one frowning now. "That one that would free my heart from the confines of this Pitch Black world that i live in! You are so full of life and energy but no! NO! He painted THIS! and RUINED IT! Ruined it in one fell swoop!"

Jack was stunned. The teacher...what? but..didn't he call him here for...WHAT?

"No! NO! OUT WITH YOU! THIS IS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I WANTED! WHAT MY SOUL NEEDED! YOU ARE NOT THE ICY PRINCE TO MELT MY HEART! NO!"

And so fast that Jack could barely even blink, he was pulled by his shirt collar to the art room door, the thing was flung open and he was hurled out into the hallway toppling head over heels, a shoe even flying off, and before he could right himself something was thrown out the door and smacked him in the back and the door was slammed shut so LOUDLY that it echoed down the hall.

"What the FUCK!" He screeched and sat up.

Beside him was his jizz covered painting and looking down Jack discovered that his dick, which never even made it back inside his pants was completely covered in yellow paint. THAT BASTARD USED PAINT AS LUBE!

"FUCK YOU, YOU PEDOPHILIC ASSHOLE I'M GOING TO GET YOU FUCKING FIRED HOW DARE YOU!" he wailed to the closed door.

And he did just that.

-the end-


End file.
